306 days…

10 calendar months

and lots of 11s.

New year.

I am not filled with anticipation, rather a sense of marking time.


I took the kids to visit Mum and Dad again today and Aunty S and Uncle K along with S and A were there.  The kids rode their scooter around, performing for S as usual.

We talked about S&A’s upcoming wedding.  We talked about Cousin A.  We talked about irrelevant, pointless things.  We didn’t talk about you.

I think people seem to get a deer-in-the-headlights look when I mention you.  But I just want to bring you back to the conversation: reinforce that you were important.  You mattered.


I read a blog this morning which sounded so much like me I had to make this comment:

I am 10 months out today.
The two other people in my house are under 4 ft tall. I function solely for them. I function at work – I hold it together. I don’t ask for help. I don’t do social graces. I forget everything. I cry in secret. I cover it up. I lie to everyone: “I’m OK”. I screen all my calls. I don’t return them. I scream. I swear. I break stuff. I don’t sleep. I blame God. I don’t pray. I don’t sing. I smile superficially. I hate everything.
…and I just bought a 20kg bag of chicken feed.

There are times when I am not at rock bottom, but it’s never far away and the slightest thing can send me spiralling back there.

…. like when I hear that bitch’s words ringing in my ears:  “Greg wouldn’t have wanted you to be unhappy”

…and I feel guilty for being sad and making you unhappy because I was unhappy.

Even when I know that I am allowed to feel “unhappy”.

I’ve got a God-damned RIGHT to feel “unhappy”.

Thinking about it more, I think the whole “not wanting (you) to feel unhappy” thing says far more about her comfort levels at confronting even a nanosecond of My Every Day Hell than it does about what you would want.

Why do I listen to the opinions of people who hardly knew you who presume to know you better than I do…??

I really am doing my very best to keep going: this hell just has to be lived through.

But sometimes the strangest things make me cry, yet feel courageous.  Like carrying that 20 kg bag of chook feed up to the cubby-storehouse from the garage.  All the while whispering  can.

I miss you.

I love you.


PS – Happy New Year, wherever you are.  I was asleep at midnight so I hope you kissed me in my dreams.